Too Old to Die Young, Too Young to Die Now
by PeachyKeen
Summary: Sad/Remorseful Banky Fic. Chapter 8 up...
1. Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel

Too old to die young, too young to die now.

As far as I understand it, Henry Hudson Regional High School is the home of the Admirals, or something…

Anyhoo.

I felt like writing this.

_My life is going so quickly, I can't believe it.  I mean, I'm only 30 fucking years old!  _

_T-H-I-R-T-Y!_

_God, I wish I could take back half of the brash, insensitive crap that I've done to people in the past 25 to 27 comprehensible years of my life.  Like the way I treated Alyssa…  I should never have done that.  I should've been happy for Holden and Alyssa.  Maybe they'd still be together.  Maybe they'd be married, with children, and a better career._

_But then again, I might never have fallen in love with Hooper.  Alyssa and Holden changed my life in the way that they made me more aware of my sexuality.  Maybe they're already aware of this.  Maybe they planned it.  Maybe they're happy for me, like I should have been happy for them._

_I never, ever, EVER thought that I'd wish to start all over again in high school.  But I do wish I was back in good ol' Henry Hudson Regional…  Yep.  That place was my stomping grounds from September of 1984 'til June of 1988.  I remember every painful detail of my life there, and I would definitely trade my current life for my teenage one._

_I pulled out the yearbook the other day.  Flipping through the pages of the Blue Horizon, I remembered myself back in my days of being an Admiral, or as Randal Graves used to call me, "Rear-Admiral".  Yeah.  The more I think about it, the more I realize that I loved high school._

_I was a Varsity bowler, and I had several letters for bowling.  I often showed up at field hockey practice, even though it is a girls' sport.  I remember that Coach McMaster would always yell at me because I was a boy, but then she'd let me play, as long as I always took on the role of the Rival team.  It didn't bother me all that much, but I learned that girls go for the kill when they play field hockey. Especially Brandi Svenning, and Gwen Turner, who continually kicked my ass, despite the fact that they're two years younger than me.  That doesn't make the teenage me a wuss, does it?_

_I was in soccer in my freshman year, but I decided that it was stupid to play something that could be done better if you replaced the field with ice, replaced the ball with a puck, and gave the players helmets, skates, sticks, and a license to legally beat the crap out of one another on the ice._

_I also attempted wrestling in my freshman year. The main problem that I had was that it took place at Keyport High School. In any event, it was fun, until I had to wrestle a smelly, hairy guy from an opposing school.  I still remember that match, and I remember the stench…  The Molotov cocktail of rotten eggs, dog shit, sweat, cheap soap, and rags that was Milton Polanski. _

_Man, if I had known then what I know now…_

_Man, if I had known then what I know now…_

_I would have done things differently._


	2. Like I been tied to the whippin post

Wow.  Life passes by at an amazing speed.  It's gone before you even understand what the hell just happened.  In fact, you spend your whole life trying to figure yourself out, and then POOF!  It's gone, like everything else that was considered stable in your life.

I got a call from Holden this morning.  He sounded happy in contrast to my miserable state.  He told me how well things were going with him, how well the new comic has been lately, how sexy his girlfriend is, how good he feels…  It's enough to take my mind away from my pain.  Of course, I don't tell him that, I just think it to myself when he's talking.

I managed to drag my ass out of bed in the afternoon and walk to the post office.  I mailed a letter to Alyssa.  Yeah, I know, I could have emailed it, but this is much more personal.  I wrote her a letter full of every emotion that I have.  I told her how much I hated her for stealing away my best friend, and then how much I loved her for making him happy.  I told her of the remorse I felt for destroying their relationship.  I told her how much I just wanted to say, 'I'm sorry'.

I'm sorry for everything.  I'm sorry for hurting Hooper.  I'm sorry for wrecking Alyssa and Holden.  I'm sorry for fucking up the Championship game in the 1987-1988 Bowling season.  I'm sorry for pantsing Walt Flanagan in gym class junior year.  I'm sorry for dumping Julie Dwyer in the 9th grade.  I'm sorry for publicly proclaiming my love for DeGrassi in 6th grade.  I'm sorry for hitting Jay in the head with that dodge ball in 3rd grade.  I'm sorry for accidentally puking into the confession window and onto Father McNulty in 1st Grade.  I'm sorry for calling Father McNulty "Father McNUTley."

Most of all, I'm sorry that I wasn't what my parents wanted me to be.  They begged me and begged me not to draw comic books.  They tried to get me to go to college for communications.  They tried to get me to go to college for culinary arts.  They even tried (as a last ditch effort) to get me to become a Priest.  Granted, the latter idea was out of the question after the "McNutley incidents".

Sure, they were proud of me.  Especially after the success of 'Bluntman and Chronic' in the comics and the flicks.  They always loved me, and I'm grateful for that, but I could still see the disappointment in their eyes.  That's something that no amount of money can erase.

Halfway home from the post office, I collapsed onto the cement.  I completely blacked out, but luckily I didn't hit my head.  I came to with Jay and Silent Bob standing above me.  Jay looked puzzled as usual, but Silent Bob looked worried.  He offered me a hand, which I did gratefully take.  He helped me back to my apartment, making sure that Jay was still tagging along.  Once we got to my flat, I offered him a few bucks, but he refused.  He gave me a look as if to say, "Hey, don't worry about it.  I was just being a friend."

Jay, on the other hand, was quite eloquent with his words:  "We's already got our cash, snooch."

I couldn't help but smile at him.  Jay is the ultimate Jackass, but he doesn't care.  He is just expressing himself the way he sees fit.  If he could only kick the drug habit, he'd be all set.  I'll talk to Silent Bob about it when I go out tomorrow.  If I can go out tomorrow.  Silent Bob is a caring soul.  I wouldn't go so far as to say that he's the most sensitive of the two, but he exhibits kindness on the outside as well as the inside.  Jay holds it in, and then releases it through a series of physical maneuvers, dances, singsongs, and the occasional conjugal visits with Justice.

I wish I could take it all back.  I keep telling myself that if I had listened to my parents, listened to Hooper and Holden and Alyssa, that if I had listened to my heart instead of my jealous mind and engorged cock, I wouldn't be in this mess.  I would have had someone to force me to go to the doctor sooner.  I would have been diagnosed quicker, and treatment would have been less harsh on my system.

Things might have turned out okay for ol' Banky Edwards.

I'm getting tired, and I'm waiting for a phone call from Dante.  He promised he'd call back.  I hope he calls me.  I need someone to talk to, and Dante is the one person that I could bare my soul to after everything that's happened in the past 25 years.


	3. Tied to the whippin post

Dante called me last night.  I must have fallen asleep on the phone though, because he came over to see me.  I felt bad about making him drive in all the way from Leonardo, but I guess he's that much of a friend.  Besides, I heard he closed the Quick Stop so that he could go to Julie's funeral, and to talk to Caitlan Bree.  I'm surprised the boss doesn't go in there and plant a foot in his ass for closing so often.  Anyway, Dante came over and spent the night on the floor beside my bed.  I'm glad he did, because I don't want to be alone. 

All my life, I was afraid of dying alone.  I'm serious.  I'd always pictured myself dying like my Nana.  She wasn't alone; she was comfortable at her house, warm and cozy in her bed.  She was surrounded by family that I didn't even know existed!  Of course, it was 1977, and our family stayed close together.  Except for weird Uncle Bill (my Dad's brother) and Aunt Edna, who moved out to Santa Barbara and had five kids, including my Cousin Anthony.  Even they came back when Nana died.  She died happy, and surrounded by family and friends.

Of course, my family has since dispersed all over the country.  I've got most of my friends who are willing to talk to me.  Dante, Randal, Holden…  even Hooper would probably talk to me…  If I had the balls to approach him, that is.

Dante stayed with me, and that made me feel great for once.  He helped me to my bedroom after I made a failed attempt to stand and walk on my own.  He actually helped me into my pajamas and tucked me into my bed.  Strange, I know, but Dante has this mothering quality to him.  He's sweet, but he's only being nice.  His mother raised him to be a proper gentleman, and though he doesn't normally show it, he can show it when he wants to show it.  So, he slept here on the floor.  I offered to allow him to sleep in my bed, but he says that he doesn't sleep well when he's in a bed.  He said something about sleeping in a closet made him most comfortable, but the floor would be good for his back.

I don't remember who I first told when I found out I had cancer.  I was in a dazed depression for at least three days.  I might have called Holden, but it very well could have been Hooper or Dante.  All I remember is sitting in the doctor's office and having my heart sink into the floor when I heard that I had lung cancer. ' Fuck, I shouldn't have smoked.'  I thought.  Then I remembered that Nana died from Lung cancer.  So did Papa.  I also remembered that my old man himself had survived a bout with cancer.  Of course, then Dr. Matthews told me that my cancer had progressed too far to treat easily. He told me that I would probably die within two years.

It's been 7 months, 12 days, 14 hours, 37 minutes, and…  about 19 seconds.

Death comes naturally, I suppose, and all I've gotta do is wait for it.  I'm waiting, and waiting, and waiting.  Death hasn't come to visit me yet.  I'm even beginning to wonder what the Angel of Death looks like.  I was always terrified of the grim reaper.  It's like he's getting ready to take me to hell or something.  I know I've done some bad shit in my life, but I don't think that God would automatically send me to hell without judging me first.  I've repented for my sins, and I try and make it to church more often.

_I'm finding myself becoming more and more of a transcendentalist every day.  I see God in everything, in all her glory.  I have started to meditate to ease my pain.  All I have to do is sit down and close my eyes, and soon I'm off in my own experience.  I'm dreaming, but I'm still here.  It's like really great sex, but it's with your soul.  I think everyone could benefit from a little bit of meditation.  It could truly do wonders for the world.  Hell, even Jay could benefit from a little bit of transcendental meditation every now and then.  Hell, maybe I could buy him Yoga classes before I finally die._


	4. Good Lord, I feel like I'm dyin'

Ch 4- 

I don't know.  There's still so much left to do before I die.  I mean, I've always wanted to have a kid or two.  I have always wanted to be able to keep my name, no-- my spirit alive in those kids.  I'd always pictured having a son and a daughter.  Or maybe 2 daughters and a son.  Or maybe even more than that.  I kept this from Holden, but while he told me he dreamed of superstardom and fucking hot chicks all the time, I dreamt differently.  I dreamt that I would be married to a beautiful woman, who was smart, a little bit sexy, a lot feisty, and who would bear my children.  A woman who I would love, and who would love me back.  A woman that I could spend the rest of my life with.

That's precisely why I'm not trying to find myself a woman now.  I don't want this woman of my dreams to marry me and no sooner have my child than I die.  I want to be there for my kid instead of being perceived as the asshole father who was never there for his child.  I suppose the kid wouldn't hate me though.  Kids aren't like that.  They usually understand death pretty well.  They know that the deceased is in heaven, along with Jojo the pup, and the bus he rode in under.

There I go again with my eternal sarcasm.  I wonder how things would have been different if Holden weren't my best friend.  What if I'd hung around with Jay?  Well, maybe Jay's not the best example…  He's 4 years younger than I am.  And If I was friends with him, I'd probably be another stoner hanging out in front of the Quick Stop.

What if I'd hung out with Dante more than I did Holden?  I practically blew him off for Holden.  As a result, Dante seemed to attach himself to Randal and his illustrious 12…  erm…  Well, it was 8 women by the time graduation rolled around.  Dante's much more of a sensitive, caring man than Holden ever was.  Dante deserves better than Randal, too.

Maybe I shouldn't go that far.  Randal is a good friend to Dante.  Despite his smart-ass ways and weird tastes in everything, he is very protective of Dante.  When he hurts Dante, he usually apologizes for it.  He's better than Holden.  So much better than Holden.  Why couldn't I have had Randal?  At least Randal's loyal, unlike that two-timing son-of-a-bitch Holden Fucking McNeil.  Dammit!  Now I feel bad again!  Holden was a halfway decent friend, I must admit.  I guess we're both just young and foolish, and pigheaded.  We're men, for crying out loud!  Aren't we all entitled to act this way every now and then?

In the words of Gregg Allman, "Good Lord, I feel like I'm dyin'."

How ironic that I am dying now, but I started feeling it years before.  Well, perhaps it's not quite 'ironic', but it sure feels like a kick in the ass.

As days go by, I wonder what life will be like without me.  I wonder if I've made a difference in my life.  What the fuck did I do for these past 3 decades of breath?  I was a tracer for the first part of my career!  For years, I played second fiddle to Holden.  I sat in the studio for day after day, complimenting him on his light posts and mailboxes, which I might add, were just light posts and mailboxes.  He never complimented me on my careful work, going over every pencil mark as gently as I could.  I was careful as all hell in inking those lines so that they could be colored in later.

But did he care?  No!  I wasted years being the fucking tracer!  I could have been drawing the Astonishing Exploits of Arachnid Dude, or some such bullshit rip-off of Stan Lee.  Holden fucking screwed me over!  He's still screwing me over!  Every time he calls me, he's still oblivious to the fact that I still care for him deeply.  I will always care for Holden, no matter what he does to me.  Granted, he's an asshole--  Most people are—but he's still my friend, and I won't abandon him like he abandoned me.


	5. My friends tell me that I've been such a...

Ch 5-

I went out again, today.  The weather's finally getting nice here in Jersey.  It's about frickin' time, too.  I've been stuck inside all winter, only going out for the most basic things like doctors' appointments, the emergency room a few times, and Hooper did take me out to 2Senza Ristorante for my birthday.  Oh!  And there was the time that I snuck outside to take a leak off the balcony onto the neighbor-lady's stupid flowers.

Hooper wasn't happy about it, but he didn't lecture me.  I swear that I saw his lips curve into a brief smile as I was doing it.  He doesn't like the neighbor-lady either.  She called him a pedophile.

I mean, Hooper?  He's harmless.  He's gay, yes, and he's very proud of that.  He's also one of the world's comic book geniuses.  He has designed himself a double life, and everyone believes that he's the extremist black man, who wants to enslave and/or kill the white man.  Hooper never really believed it; he just got people interested in buying his stuff.

That's how I met him.  I was curious about his real attitudes, and then Holden told me that Hooper wasn't really a hater.  I guess that was when I realized that I liked him.  He was really sweet to me for some reason.

I used to get these…  images… at night when I was curled up next to Hooper.  He would usually be asleep, and his soft snores would send me to sleep.  Before I did sleep, though, I'd begin to think that Holden only went with Alyssa to get back at me.  Like he really loved me and deliberately tried to make me jealous.  He's like a teenage girl, for crying out loud!

Every time I think that, it makes me sad.  Sad because I realize that I really loved Hooper.  Sad because Holden didn't love me then or now.  Sad because I can't be with either of them ever. 

Anyway, I went out this morning on another walk.  I saw Jay and Silent Bob again.  I mentioned the meditation to Bob, and he smiled and nodded.  He then took me aside and told me, "It'll do him some good."  Strangely enough, Jay was chasing squirrels.  He would get to the point where he almost caught one, and then he would trip.

Seriously, that boy is too lanky for his own good.  I've talked to Bob about it, and he admits that Jay eats way more than Bob does, but Jay is energetic.  He's even known as a 'sonic boom with dirt'.  I asked why Jay was chasing squirrels, and Bob just chuckled.  Jay's always been like that.  He does stuff without worrying about what others will think of him.  He's Jay and no one can take that from him.

I continued on down the road, stopping to look into the window of the Stash.  Brodie sat at the counter, reading the latest issue of Spider-man.  What a dork.  I bang on the window and he looks up and gives me the finger.  I can't help but laugh.  Brodie is also one of those humans that don't care what others think.  And I love him for that.

Come to think of it, I didn't even tell Brodie I had cancer.  I should have, but I never did.  I wanted one friend that didn't pity me, and Brodie was that friend.  I'm sure he's heard it by now, and maybe he thinks that it's just a rumor.  I know that I have to come clean with him, but I'm afraid he'll get mad at me for not telling him.  He's one of those guys that gets upset over trivial crap, and so I wonder if he'll really get pissed off because I withheld information.

Naaah.  Brodie's not that kind of guy.  I've made up my mind to tell him the next time I go out.  The way the news keeps talking, I'll be able to go out every day.  No rain, snow, sleet, or other generally shitty weather.  It should be nice and warm, and I'll be less susceptible to diseases.

I swear I'm going to tell Brodie.  I owe it to him.


	6. And I have to stand by and take it baby,...

Chapter 6-

I got a call from Hooper today.  He asked me how I was doing.  I lied and said I was absolutely fine, even though my body aches, and my heart is broken.  I was astonished that Hooper would even talk to me, after all I did to him.  I think I really hurt him, and so he went back to Manhattan.  He belongs there, really.  It's where he grew up, went to school, and started his comic.  His family is there, too.

He fits right into the city life.  Granted, he belongs in Greenwich Village, but he's got that persona of his to hide behind.  He is Hooper X, not Hooper LaMont.  He's strong, persuasive, and can live under a façade very easily.

In other words, he's everything that I want to be.

I could never do it.  I couldn't even live under the false image that I had.  I was Banky Edwards.  Banky "Wonderful son of Julia and Edward, bowling champion, hockey fanatic, dating-a-cheerleader, best friends with Holden McNeil, Straight-A, Good Catholic, Smart, Handsome, Brilliant, Straight Man" Edwards.

I mean, yes, I was somewhat smart, and I loved my parents, and I was a bowling champion until the wax mishap of the final game of my senior year.  I was a hockey fanatic, got straight A's, and I did date a cheerleader.  Jeanne-Marie DuBois, I believe her name was.  Ah, she was beautiful, but she didn't love me.  She was only going out with me because she was trying to make her boyfriend jealous.

I think he was the dude that got busted for having sex with a minor…  The one that wanted to do it in a very uncomfortable place…Something about the back of a Volkswagen?  I don't know.  I don't pay attention to these things.  I'm too busy tending to my own dismal existence.

But then again, I worry about everyone else, too.

Well, Hooper says that he'll be back in town soon for a Comicon.  I'm pretty sure that I won't be attending, partly because of my poor health and partly because of my fears.  I'm afraid that Hooper will be uncomfortable.  I'm afraid that he **won't** be uncomfortable.  I'm afraid that I'll end up falling in love with the man that I can't have.

There I go again!  I sound like a teenage kid!  I love Hooper LaMont.  I've never felt this way about **anybody****, **not even Holden.  What I felt for Holden was love, but I had a relationship with Hoop.  I held hands with him.  I hugged him, kissed him, held him, made love with him…  I did everything with Hooper that I had always wanted to do with Holden, but I wasn't broken up.  I enjoyed my time with him, and I never cried over the lack of affection, because there was no lack of affection.

Hooper always made sure that I felt loved.  As a man, I can tell you that few men like to cuddle after sex, and Hooper is a "Cuddle-bunny".  He held me and we would talk for hours, and it never phased us.  He did the most romantic things for me.  After a day of inking, I would come home physically and emotionally drained after spending a day with the first man I thought I loved.  Hooper was there with open arms and he would hold me, a smile playing out on his lips, and a loving shine in his eyes.

Hell, I remember that Hooper had his mischievous side, too.  We'd go to the Comicons and see fans of his, and he told everyone that he was the supreme Massa and I was his white bitch-servant.  I tell ya, it was unbelievably hard not to laugh.  I would turn around and snicker while Hoop kept a straight face.

Jay wasn't much of a problem with Hooper.  In fact, Hoop is the one person that Jay doesn't act like an ass around.  I think its because Hoop took the twerp in  when he was out on the streets for that time when his mom's crackhouse got busted.  Jay was grateful as all hell, and apparently still is.  Jay's got that fat cash now, and he always offers to pay Hooper back, but Hoop refuses.  That's just the kind of guy he is.  He's kind, and charitable.

Speaking of Jay, I can hear him rapping from the sidewalks.  He's not that good at it, but I swear I heard him doing his own little mix of rap songs.  He must be singing along to the Walkman Silent Bob bought him.  I think he's singing Sweet Home Alabama.  That makes no sense because he was born and raised in Red Bank, New Jersey, and only left for Hollywood after that disaster of a film came out.

I think I'll go down and see them.  I could use some company, even if one half is knowing, and the other half is obnoxious.  Man, can Bob be obnoxious…

Naw, they're both awesome dudes.

Wow.  Did I just say 'dudes'?


	7. too lazy to put in the lyric

Chapter 7-

I went down and hung out with Jay and Bob for a little bit.  Jay was playing with a yo-yo, trying to do 'Around the World'.  He swung it, and it hit the brick wall of the apartment building and smashed into several shards of plastic and metal parts.  Jay looked as though he would cry but Bob sighed and reached into his Trench coat.  He pulled a shiny new yo-yo out and out it into Jay's long skinny fingers.  Bob looked back at me to tell me the obvious; Jay's gonna be all right.

I've begun to notice a certain chemistry between Jay and Bob.  It's a common relationship, but it's not.  Most people don't meet under the circumstances that they did, and people also don't stay as close as Jay and Bob do.

Jay was an unfortunate street urchin; He was the son of a crack-whore.  Jay was the second of eight children, and he ended up having to raise his siblings.  His older brother went to jail for felony something-or-other. 

See, Jay isn't the stoner fuck that he appears to be.  Sure, he's done drugs, dealt drugs, manufactured drugs, and so on, but he's not as dumb as people would think.  He's like Hooper, living under this façade he's created over the years as a way of protecting himself.  He's a human being, and he cares very much about people special to him.  He's done things that are so shameful that it would make a fuckin' hooker blush.

I remember Bob telling me what Jay told him, and I can't imagine ever having to do these things.  He mostly performed sexual acts, and received very little money for it.  Sometimes, he'd get his ass kicked, and he never shed a tear.  He'd just take whatever sum of money he had, buy food, and take it home to his siblings.

Jay was so unselfish…  He'd show up at school the next day as if there was nothing wrong.  He'd laugh and joke and be a general asshole, but he'd never hint that there was anything wrong.  So when Silent Bob told me what Jay had done, it nearly floored me.  I couldn't believe that he did it…

But that's changed.  He lives the way he should.  His mom is in jail, most of his siblings are living with his Aunt Christina, his asshat brother is also in jail, and he's free as a bird.  He has his family, and he has Silent Bob.  It doesn't seem like Jay cares, but he really does.  He doesn't show his caring for other people, except when he's around Bob.  He loves Bob, and it shows every time he looks at him.

Bob knows it.  He knows that Jay cares about him, and he cares about Jay.  The two would do anything for each other, and that is absolutely incredible to see in times like these.

All my life, I've wished for that.  Their friendship isn't perfect, but it's everything to those two.

All I've ever wanted is a friend that loved me so much that he or she would do anything for me…

Is it too late for that?


	8. I mock your cheese danish and all it sta...

Chapter 8-

Author's Notes:  I'm grateful for the reviews, and I'm sorry for the emotional crap…  But, I feel the need for an emotional Banky.  Especially since I've watched Chasing Amy 2.4 times in the past 3 days…

Today was miserable.  I got up and the first thing I did was whack my head on the bedpost.  Let me tell you, **that** was unpleasant.  Then I looked out the window and noticed that New Jersey was again experiencing very nice weather.  Of course, it was too fucking hot and sunny for me to go outside.

I'm a fucking invalid!  I can't even leave my own home because of this fucking disease!  If I get sunburned, then it just makes things worse.  I was so tempted to call a friend, but I don't want their fucking pity!  I just want things to be like old times, where some of us friends get together, go to the hockey game, go to Denny's, go to the arcade and play some skeeball, and then go home.  Just like I've been doing for the past 15 years or so.

Obviously, that isn't meant to happen.  I shouldn't have been so selfish over it, y'know?  If they want to pity me, fine, let them.  If it makes them feel better, then that's great.  I mean, I'm slowly dying anyway, what's the point?  In a matter of months, I'll be dead, in the ground, with weeds growing on my grave.

Actually, I should call up Randal.  He would never pity me!  If anything, he would tell me to get off my high horse and tell me to get on with my life!  Then again, Randal's changed in the past few years.  He's an asshole, yes, but he knows about pity.

Perhaps he doesn't care at all about my illness.  Its just Randal being Randal.  He'd just bring over his stroke books and Star Wars tapes, and we'd make a night of it.  Just like old times.

Speaking of old times, maybe tomorrow's hockey game is my last chance.  I might never get another chance to go out to a hockey game before I die.  Hockey, drink, Zamboni, drink, Devils win, yell, scream, go to Denny's, piss, leave, drink, go to arcade, play drunken skeeball, go home, sleep, wake up with hangover.  Die.

I just want to have one final hurrah.  I want to be the old Banky that everyone knew and maybe even loved.  I want to have one last good time before I get to meet God herself.

Someday I'll see my friends in heaven.  I know that God has love for all of her children, and surely I'll see Jay, Bob, Randal, Dante, Alyssa, Veri, Caitlin, Willam, Hoop…  maybe even Holden.

But, dying does have its benefits.  Well, no.  Dying slowly has its benefits.  It forces you to think;  about your past, your present, your future.  I've been thinking about my past, and how I had always been a cynical little bastard.  Well, maybe not always…  I wasn't so bad until third grade when that Nun tried to teach me the Blessed Trinity.  I don't remember why I lost it that day, but…  I didn't understand her.  I was too young to understand the many facets of God…  and then, I just lost it…

From then on, I began to fashion myself into the man I've become; Sarcastic, bitter, angry, scared, lonely…  I know that I'm successful…  I was half the mastermind behind Bluntman and Chronic- One of the most popular underground comics since The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.  I was the executive producer of one of the hottest Summer Superhero movies of 2001.  I made a shitload of cash, and used that cash to better my community.  I donated a large percentage of it to various causes-  The Arts, education, charities, orphans…  But, no matter what I did, I was still unhappy.

I'm still not happy.  I know I'll be gone in a few months or less, but…  I just want to be happy one more time.  Just once.  Not even watching DeGrassi reruns in my underwear makes me happy.  It amuses me, but I still feel empty and alone…

Fuck it.  I'm calling Randal.


End file.
